Hermione's Helping Hand
by vanillaparchment
Summary: A spell, some injuries, a lesson, and something unexpected. A Harry/Hermione fic that could have been set in DH, except that the ship is supposedly wrong. Reviews appreciated!


A/N: A story that will probably leave you thinking, "Now, would they really...? Nah." It's just something to get my writing brain jogged. Reviews appreciated, as always!

"It's really quite simple." Hermione promised a very dubious-looking Harry. "If you pay attention and work at it a bit."

"Uh-huh." Harry said rather skeptically, twirling his wand in between his fingers. "You and I have a drastically different definition of _simple_, Hermione."

She quirked a smile, hooking her left thumb into the corner of her jeans as she leaned up against the kitchen counter. She swept her brown wavy curls off her shoulders and shrugged.

"I suppose you're right." she conceded, resting the tip of her wand thoughtfully against her cheek. "But I'm not sure it's so drastic anymore. What _I'm_ not sure about is how we're going to practice this one, since it involves healing _injuries._"

She gestured off vaguely. In their puzzled silence, Mrs. Weasley could be heard outside, arguing with Ginny about the proper way to clean her Puffskein's cage.

"Before you ask," Harry said, grinning, "I don't reckon either of us fancies cutting ourselves for the sake of learning. At least I don't. I'm not so sure about you."

She made a face at him.

"Ha ha." she said sarcastically, though she grinned back. "But you're right. I wonder if Ron--"

"No, no, and no again!" Ron strode past the two of them on his way out to the backyard. "I refuse, whatever it is."

"Coward." Hermione muttered, making Harry's smirk grow.

"Did I hear you volunteer?" he teased.

"Oh, shut up." Hermione said, laughing. "Do you want to learn the spell or not?"

"I do, but it seems to entail losing a lot of blood, which is rather unappealing, but maybe that's just me."

"Fine, well, what do you _want_ to do?" Hermione questioned, looking exasperated. "Sit around until one of us just _happens_ cut themselves?"

Harry frowned.

"Harness a gnome?" he suggested doubtfully.

"No." Hermione said firmly, "It would be completely wrong to do that to a gnome. Oh, I don't know."

"Maybe we could come back to it later and hope one of us is having a really bad day coordination-wise." Harry suggested. She shook her head slowly.

"I hate to say this, but you're right." she sighed, "It seems we don't have a choice."

"You know what," Harry said, with the air of a martyr, "I'll go and ask Mr. Weasley if there's anything I can do to help in his shop. There's bound to be something I'll hurt myself on and you...."

She grimaced.

"I suppose I could volunteer to assist Ginny in mending the clothes." she said reluctantly, "She has to do it without magic and she can't knit or sew to save her life."

Harry's mind conjured a picture of Ginny wielding two gleaming knitting needles and found himself wincing as well.

"Try not to bleed to death." he said dryly.

"Bleed to death?" Hermione said wryly, "I'm busy trying to keep those needles away from my _eyes_, thanks."

* * *

"This had better be worth it, Harry James Potter." Hermione threatened, as she entered the kitchen. "The _things_ I do for you..."

"How bad is it?"

"I suppose it could be worse." Hermione raised her hands in the air, showing off the red puncture marks adorning her hands, which looked rather swollen. He cringed. "What about you?"

"Well," Harry said, offering her his hand in return. "I managed to get my hands caught in a Ventacula vine that Mr. Weasley 'never noticed before'. Then he almost set the shed on fire with a half-empty can of lighter fuel that he dropped on my foot."

They looked at each other ruefully.

"You're right." Harry said, after a moment. "This had better be worth it."

She gritted her teeth.

"Let's just get on with it." she said, "Come here."

And she proceeded to jerk Harry's injured hands toward her. Seeing him wince, she softened her grip on his hands and raised her wand.

"Episkey." she said clearly, lightly tapping some of the welts on Harry's hand. "See? Just a tap, like that... Episkey."

"But-- what else do you have to _do?"_ Harry said, bewildered at the seeming simplicity. "I mean--"

"Imagine it whole." Hermione explained, quite patiently considering the sorry state of her own hands. "As well as you can, anyway."

"What if I don't imagine it right?" Harry said nervously, holding his wand in his now-healed hand. "Suppose I gave you-- a fingernail in the palm of your hand, or something?"

"Well," she said, now looking a bit nervous, "I'm not sure. I _think_ we could fix it."

"You _think_ we could fix it?" Harry's voice came out a bit higher than he intended. "And if we can't?"

"I don't know." she said honestly, "I suppose we could cut it off."

"You look way too calm when you say that." Harry complained.

"Merlin, this is stupid." she said, rolling her eyes. "Even if you _don't_ know what my hands look like normally, you can at _least_ envision skin. Now heal them before I start to get dizzy from the pain."

This last bit came dripping with irony, but Harry chose to ignore her and stared at her swollen hands, resting in his left hand. How _did_ Hermione's hands look normally?

He wrinkled his nose and frowned.

"You had a callous, right there, didn't you?" he mused, jabbing a finger (gently) at her finger. "From writing?"

She looked startled.

"Well... yes, I did." she confirmed, giving him such a confused glance that Harry turned rather red. He looked hastily back down at her hand.

"And... _there._" he tapped her thumb, "You had sort of a scar, from something else...?"

"From third year..." she finished, now looking so nonplussed that Harry himself began to wonder if this was somehow endangering his reputation as a thick-headed male in her view. "When Crookshanks tried to get Scabbers."

"Yeah." he said, and raised his wand before she could say anything else.

"Episkey." he said, clearing his throat.

All the wounds on her hands vanished. Hermione blinked and squinted at her hands, her lips parted in shock.

"Well, I--" she said finally, lifting her hands out of Harry's to gaze at them in awe. "I have to say you exceeded my expectations on that one, Harry."

He forced a smile.

"Erm... sorry?"

"Don't be." she said quickly, "It's not that I'm upset with you, or anything, it's just..."

She trailed off. This time _she_ was the one to blush.

"What?"

"I never thought you knew me like that." she said, looking up and pushing hair out of her eyes. "Or even _wanted_ to."

"Yeah, well, we've known each other a long time."

"Yeah." she agreed, uncomfortably. "We have."

He cleared his throat and stared determinedly at the tile floor.

"Thanks, Harry." she blurted so quickly that Harry barely understood her , and before he could even start to ask, "For what?", she had taken his hand and placed a soft, hasty kiss on his palm. "I'll see you in the morning!"

And she was gone.

He found himself gazing stupidly at his hand, half-expecting to see a flush spread across his palm like the blush creeping across his cheeks.

_That_ had never happened before. She had kissed him on the cheek before, certainly, even his forehead. But his _hand?_

There was just something _different_ about it.

The way her lips had seemingly lingered on the highly sensitive surface of his skin, causing every inch of his hand to shiver in pleasure, and the way her warm breath had softly brushed his fingers. The shy look in her downcast eyes, the nervous smile slightly lifting her mouth as she brushed past him.

He closed his fingers in a fist, as if to trap the kiss within his grasp.

He would have to help Mr. Weasley in his shed more often.

A/N: Pretty standard stuff, right there. Ah, well. It got my writing brain back in gear.


End file.
